I wish I was like those dolls with no fears.
the days kept coming as she sipped time into her day, her life went by routine and everything started and paralyzed at certain times. she would wake up, dress herself enough times to be compared as the dolls her father gave her when she was younger, and yet she was never happy with the result. those dolls fucking haunted her, they would stare at her as she wrote fake suicide notes, as she drenched herself in her homework, as she ignored all around her, they kept staring. they were tangible momentos of her father, he had moved miles and miles away, and though he wasn't dead---he was dead enough for her liking. she heard his voice once a while, maybe once a day, once a week, depending on how busy work was. she never called him, that was his duty, and yet she would be upset if he missed a day. to him, she was just the conversation between work and home, and she knew it. she always felt like the leftovers in her parents relationships. they had moved on, but she couldnt, they were all she had and yet it was dissapearing just as he did. and now he was gone. but those dolls, they kept staring at her, almost accusing her of sins and she knew her wrong-doings more than anyone else. she spent days, hours, minutes just focusing on her flaws. lists, notes, essays, filled papers and computer screens of how much she hated herself. she hated how her mind took certain routes of inprisonment. she hated how she would rather be alone than with a group of fake girls, she sometimes wished she could be fake like them, like those dolls. and in some ways, she was exactly like them. penetrating eyes glancing others, cracking their skin like it was porcelien, she always discovered stranger's flaws instead of their strengths. she lived with many defense mechanisms, she didnt want to be broken again, like her father had created in the past. now she would break others, so she could share the pain. in the end, that was all she wanted, someone to understand her insides, someone who could xray her body front and back and yet grin the whole way, someone who could clear her mind, breath, and thoughts...take a syringe and stick it in.. take out all the pain, make her numb and yet real...like her dolls, remaining to stare. she just wanted to be understood.. but that would never happen, because of fear. fear of them using it against her, fear of judgement and critisizm, she would never let someone get close enough to be understood. she had let her father see all sides of her, and he had just left her...why wouldnt anyone else? if your parent cant even remain constant in your life, how is anyone else? how the fuck is anyone else? so she just sat there, didnt get ready for school that day, and stared to see what would happen. she threw the porcelien doll across her room and called her dad up. he was in a meeting, but she left a message to her assistant saying, "our relationship is over, cracked open on my bedroom floor." and then she felt alive again, finally. nothing haunting her, just a bunch of glass to clean up, but that would be taken care of because the cleaning person was to come that day. her only problem now, was she was late for school. for the first time in her life, she was out of routine but nothing felt close to stopping. infinite.